


new and different ways

by silklace



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Dildos, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Just the Tip, M/M, chicago era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 05:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/pseuds/silklace
Summary: The note had said “Hey – go fuck yourself!” and been attached to a bright, neon-green dildo, still in its brand-new packaging.





	new and different ways

**Author's Note:**

> mm, pure porn right here, folks
> 
> PLEASE, for the love of our collective sanity, keep it secret, keep it safe: do not show to anyone directly or indirectly involved.

Tommy licks his lips. It’s so fucking hot in here, with the AC on the fritz again and no breeze to speak of coming through the third-floor windows. He can feel a trickle of sweat collecting along the dip of his spine, even this late at night. 

“Tommy,” Jon says thickly, twisting his neck and straining to look back over his shoulder at him. Like he knows Tommy wasn’t there with him for a second, mind somewhere else, and had already started missing him. 

“S’okay,” Tommy says, leaning down, his knees tacking against the sheets as he shuffles forward to drop a kiss on the back of Jon’s sweaty neck, which is still tense and corded. 

“M’here,” he says, rumbly and honey-voiced, in the way that he only gets around Jon – or more specifically, around Jon when he’s like _this_ \- hazy and fucked-out looking and eager for anything Tommy wants to give him. 

Like now, how he sets the tips of his fingers against Jon’s lips, and Jon sucks them in, greedy. 

It’s never been like this with anyone else, Tommy thinks. _He’s_ never been like this with anyone else. 

He pets the muscles in Jon’s neck until they relax, until his chin drops back against the sheets and his shoulders are taking the brunt of his weight again. Tommy looks down at him, at the broad expanse of his tanned back, the narrow cut of his hips and his flat ass, a little bony-looking with the way he’s bent at the waist, on his knees for Tommy in the too-small beds of the flophouse.

“You look –,” he says voice rough, only he’s not sure what he was even going to say, not with the way Jon’s blinking up at him, rounding his mouth over the shape of Tommy’s fingers. He wants to say, _You look so good I want to eat you_ but that’s. That’s an extremely not-normal thing to say. 

Instead, he drags his fingers, wet, from Jon’s mouth. A string of saliva follows in his wake, and he smears the slickness along Jon’s cheekbone. Jon makes a noise like he likes it, like he likes it too much and knows it. 

“Tommy,” he says, a little breathy. “M’ready, I’m good – good for you.” He stutters over the last few words, eyes cutting away. 

“Nah, man,” Tommy says, even though he’s so hard it’s painful, his dick red and wet at the tip. “Not yet.” But it’s the right thing to say because Jon closes his eyes and _whines_. 

Tommy thinks if he looked between Jon’s legs, or turned him over and got him belly up, that his cock would be hard and slick-looking, precum beading at the tip. 

Good. 

Tommy slides his other hand up the back of Jon’s thigh, thumbs at the furrow of his ass, a little rough. Jon likes it, whines again and pushes back as if chasing after Tommy’s touch, even while he’s still working his own index and middle finger in and out of his hole like Tommy had told him to earlier. 

“I wanna see you finger yourself open for me,” he’d said, in the middle of making out, both of them still wet from the shower they’d taken after getting home from the bars, late but early enough that the rest of the house was still out, and even though they were covered in the stink of beer and cigarette smoke and hot summer, that hadn’t stopped Jon from putting his face against Tommy’s neck and _smelling_ him as they’d stumbled up the stairs together. Like he couldn’t help himself, like he was hot for Tommy all the time. 

And – maybe he was, maybe he did think about it all the time, the new and different ways he’d like to get off with Tommy because halfway up the stairs he’d veered off on the second floor and lurched over to his bedroom, saying “just a sec,” even though they never fucked in his room anymore because his mattress was on the floor and Tommy’s was propped up on a – granted – metal frame, but still it meant Tommy could plant one foot on the floor, leverage up on his other knee, and _fuck_ Jon hard enough that he felt it in his teeth, that afterwards his hands were still shaking from how tightly he gripped the mattress edge. 

Tommy’s room is also on the third floor – which is, if you wanted to parse words, actually the attic, and incidentally home to no one else except a storage closet filled with empty Folgers cans in varying states of rust and the occasional cockroach that Tommy has (mostly) gotten used to, so that it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that the reason they spend so much time up there “working” – sometimes even late into the night – is because it’s the quietest room in the house. 

So, Tommy had followed Jon to his bedroom, leaned against the doorframe and said, “What’s up, man?”

Jon, who’d been kneeling and searching for something in his bedside table glanced back at Tommy, double took, swallowed and said, “You – god, stop. Like leaning there all. Big and stuff,” and then ducked back towards the drawer before Tommy could even shut his mouth. 

“That’s – we’re like the same size, man,” Tommy had said, trying to sound less pleased. He pushed off the threshold and slumped down onto Jon’s bed, grunting a little at the drop and propping his elbows on his bent knees. 

“Sorta,” Jon had said, distractedly, pulling a paper bag from the drawer. He looked hesitant and was worrying perpetually at his bottom lip with his teeth, making it shiny and plump and pink. 

“Dude, what is it?”

“Yeah,” Jon said, scratching the back of his neck, like he knew he was being weird. “Uh, remember a couple of weekends ago? When Josh’s ex sent him that note?”

Tommy did – it’d been the topic of pretty much constant ribbing for days afterwards. The note had said “Hey – go fuck yourself!” and been attached to a bright, neon-green dildo, still in its brand-new packaging, and had subsequently taken up residence directly on the kitchen counter, on top of the coffeemaker, so that it was the first thing people saw when they walked in, because they were – collectively - hilarious and clever. 

It’d disappeared a couple of days later, but Tommy figured Josh had just finally gotten sick of it. He hadn’t thought much of it since then.

But. He’d had an idea of what might be in the paper bag Jon was clutching at like it had the nuclear codes contained within. 

“Oh,” he’d said, turning a little pink despite his best efforts. For all that he was often an idiot, he didn’t feel like one right then, and could put together Jon’s twitchiness and sudden inability to meet Tommy’s eyes with what was in his hands. 

It was – cool. Tommy had had a girlfriend in college who liked when he used her vibrator on her clit while he fucked her, liked it even more when he’d lick the tip first and then run it wetly across her nipples, down her belly, between her legs. 

“Uh,” he’d said, and Jon stuttered out, “This is – stupid, sorry -”

“No, no, s’not – not stupid, I wanna -”

“ - let’s just forget it –”

“ – I want to – I wanna use it on you - ”

“ – happily pretend this never happened – what?”

“Can I use it on you?” Tommy had felt marble mouthed. “S’what you want, right?” 

“Uh -,” Jon’s voice cracked, his mouth soft and o-shaped, looking at Tommy in a – way he couldn’t place. He shook his head in a clearing gesture and said, “Yeah, like – if you want to, too?”

And Tommy did – he found suddenly, hadn’t given it much thought before, but now – with Jon kneeling next to him – pink cheeked and shiny eyed – he could picture it: the obscene green shape against Jon’s pretty, smooth skin, fucking into him, and Tommy watching him take it, watching the way he’d lift his legs higher, ready for anything Tommy was willing to give him – his fingers, his cock, a fucking plastic prick because he loved it, wanted it all the time, was greedy for Tommy in any way he could have him. 

It’d been easy, then, to push Jon up to the attic and into the shower up there – which consisted mostly of a curtain hung around a drain in the floor, shoved into what Tommy was certain had at one point been a storage closet and not a bathroom – to kiss him soft and slow and sweet until Jon was loose and hazy with it, wriggling, still shower-wet, onto the sheets on Tommy’s bed, eyes half-moons of pleasure, pulling Tommy after him so that their long bodies touched from ankle to forehead. 

Had been easier, still, to roll Jon onto his stomach, where he’d made a soft, breathy noise and pushed his face against the pillow, like he’d been waiting for it, waiting for Tommy to come and put him on his belly. And just like that the drowsy, tipsy way they’d been falling into each other all night had slid over into – something else. 

Tommy had set his teeth against the back of Jon’s neck, kissed the red mark that appeared there, and then slapped his ass with the hard, firm line of his hand. “Knees,” he’d said, quietly, and watched Jon react like a reflex – pulling himself up by lifting his hips and drawing his knees forward, keeping his head low between his elbows.

Now, he watches the way Jon is straining to finger himself, the muscles in his back taut and tense as he reaches behind him to make it look good for Tommy, back arched so that Tommy can see the way his fingers are fucking into his hole, tugging at the pink edge of his rim, sore and a little puffy looking, but slick, too, because Tommy keeps pouring lube over him, enough that his fingers make a wet, sucking sound as he moves them in and out. 

Like a _girl_ , Tommy thinks, and knows Jon is thinking it too because he shudders and moans every time it happens. 

“So wet,” Tommy says, slotting into place behind Jon so he can rut his dick there. Jon makes to remove his fingers and Tommy stops him. “Nah,” he says, “keep ‘em there.” 

“Tommy,” Jon says, voice wrecked and muffled by the pillows. He whimpers, plaintive, but starts moving his wrist again, sliding his long fingers inside of himself up to the knuckle. 

“You want it, huh, baby,” Tommy says, not knowing where the words are coming from except that Jon’s hips are hitching back for it, these circular motions like his fingers aren’t enough, like he wants Tommy’s dick. 

“So fucking wet for me,” Tommy says again, because it bears repeating – and then: “Wet like a pussy, huh?”

Jon’s whole body jerks like a live wire. 

Tommy slides his hand down to cup one ass cheek, pull it to the side so he can see the way his dick looks, caught fat in the line of Jon’s ass, but Jon, god, holy fuck, interprets it another way and spreads his fingers inside of himself, so that Tommy can see the way the pinkness of his hole opens up, sucking and clenching around Jon’s fingers like it’s hungry, like it’s fucking greedy for Tommy’s dick. 

“You can fuck me,” Jon says, and then, harder to hear because he pushes half of his mouth against the pillow as he says it, but still unmistakable, “You can fuck my pussy.”

Tommy feels that in his teeth. 

“Shit,” he says, hot with it. “Shit.” He pushes his dickhead forward so that it eclipses the open space between Jon’s still-spread fingers, until he’s fucking the head of his cock into the hot, wet heat of Jon’s ass. 

“So tight,” he grunts, touching the small of Jon’s back, running his thumbs along the two dimples there. He hinges forward and kisses under the wing of Jon’s shoulder, keeping his cock in place, just opening him up on the tip of his dick, the shape of Jon’s two fingers still nudged inside his hole, too.

“So good, sweetheart,” he says, reaching up to touch the side of Jon’s face. Below him, Jon’s trembling, all the way from his thighs to his chest. “You wanna get fucked?”

“I do,” Jon says, pupils blown wide. “I want it, I want you to fuck me, Tommy,” he chants, “Make me take your dick and the,” he swallows, “the other dick, too, wanna show you how good I can take cock for you, please –”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and finally he reaches forward and grabs for the dildo they’d unboxed and left – not forgotten, but untouched – on the corner of the bed until now. He grips it around the base and nudges the head against Jon’s mouth. “Suck,” he directs, and then adds: “just the tip.”

Jon’s lashes are a sooty flare against his cheeks as he shuts his eyes and seals his lips around the head of the dildo, swirling his tongue once to get it wet and then just – suckling gently, keeping his lips tight to the cockhead. 

It looks – utterly obscene, the latex toy bright and glaring and somehow worse than if he were really sucking someone else’s dick while Tommy fucked him. 

“God,” Tommy chokes, “You love it,” he says, a little wonderingly. “You think anybody knows? How much you fucking love it when I put my dick inside of you?”

Jon moans, sucking wetly at the toy, lashes fluttering, and Tommy can’t help himself, could never have imagined saying these things to anyone ever, not ever, but Jon – loves it, is still canting his hips up and back for the press of Tommy’s dick. “God, such a slut for it, huh, baby? Pussy fucking dripping for me.”

Jon’s whole body shudders, an undulating movement, and he pulls off the dildo enough to slur out, “Do it, Tommy, fuck me,” even while he runs his lips along the length of the toy in hot, mindless pleasure. 

“God, okay, fuck, you can take your fingers out,” Tommy says, shifting backwards to give Jon the space to unwind himself, which he does gingerly, adjusting out of the long-held position. 

He must be sore, Tommy thinks, so he reaches over and gently massages Jon’s shoulders, running his thumbs in deep circles to get the muscle to relax. 

“Oh,” Jon says, and Tommy says, “Is this okay?”

Jon nods, quiet. “S’nice,” he says, finally, after a long moment. He looks back at Tommy over his shoulder, then, but doesn’t say anything. 

It’s – strange, after the intensity of the dirty talk from before, the hot and mindless way things had felt a few minutes ago. 

Tommy swallows. “Do you still like this? Do you want to keep – doing this?” Maybe he. Overestimated. Or fucking underestimated. Maybe he should’ve talked about pussy less. 

“Yeah,” Jon says, “Can I – turn over?” Tommy nods. Jon’s only fucked him a handful of times, but he never referred to Tommy’s ass as a pussy. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

He scoots back so that Jon can flip onto his back. Once he’s there, he spreads his thighs and pulls Tommy between them. Tommy goes. 

“Hi,” Jon says, eyes half-lidded and dark. He rubs his dick – still hard – against Tommy’s hip. “You feel – really good,” he says, still smiling this dopey smile. 

“Good, that’s good,” Tommy says, because, it – that _is_ probably a good thing. 

Jon pulls his knees up. “You gonna fuck me now?”

Tommy breathes out through his nose, watches the way Jon turns his head to the side and sucks a hot, open-mouthed kiss against Tommy’s forearm. “I liked it,” he confides, looking at Tommy from beneath his lashes, “I want you to put the dildo back in my mouth,” he trips out, “and fuck me at the same time, and it’s not anybody else’s dick I’m sucking, Tommy, it’s for you, okay? I wanna take it for you, show you how good I can be for it, like you’re fucking my p-pussy,” he says, tongue thick with desire, cheeks burgundy colored, “and my mouth at the same time, you know, and someday, maybe, like I could wear a short little skirt for you and you could fuck me in it, you know?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Tommy’s brain is short circuiting, but Jon isn’t fucking shutting up. Worse, his hips are starting to hitch up again as he gets more into it, seeking, and Tommy – god. Yes. 

“Anything,” he says, lining his dick up against Jon’s hole, “Anything you want, baby.” 

“Yeah,” Jon says, slurry now, as he bears down on Tommy’s dick, almost too much, too tight, so that Tommy’s whole body feels lit with pleasure from the bottom of his feet to the roof of his mouth as he pushes forward. When he’s fully inside, Jon makes a sound like all the breath has been punched out of him. 

“F- _fuck_ ,” he says, pushing his head back into the pillow. “Oh, fuck, Tommy, yeah you could like -,” he pants out, rising up to meet it every time Tommy thrusts into him, so hot and eager for it, face loose and fucked out looking. “You could put me in a skirt, fuck me over your desk, I-I’d wear those little lace panties, you could make me wear them and just push ‘em to the side so you can get at my p-pussy, hold me open for you against your desk.”

Tommy’s going to lose his mind if Jon keeps talking like that, so he grabs the dildo again and presses it to Jon’s mouth, saying, “open up,” needlessly, because Jon’s already sucking it into his mouth like it’s the best thing in the world, to get to suck on it while Tommy’s dick is fucking inside of him, his eyes literally rolling up in pleasure as he slides his mouth over it. 

He looks so fucking _pretty_ ; cheeks flushed, lips shining and pink, lashes fluttering softly against his cheek. His mouth is stretched wide around the fake dick. Tommy wants to fucking ruin him. 

He takes Jon’s hand in his and wraps it around the dildo. “Keep sucking,” he instructs, leaning close and dragging his mouth along Jon’s collar bone. “Like you’re blowing me, baby, like you did in the shower earlier, hmm? Where you kept trying to take me all the way down your throat - show me how you can do that now.” 

Jon moans around the toy, obscene and genuine, and with both hands free, Tommy can get his grip around Jon’s waist and leverage him off the bed, changing the angle in a way that has Jon _yelping_ , eyes going wide, before he shoves the fake dick back in his mouth, using his hand to push it in and out of the circle of his lips. 

Tommy can see the shape of the dick moving along Jon’s hollowed cheek. 

It feels like it’s been ages since Jon pushed against his shoulder at the bar, small smile tugging at his lips and said, “We could get outta here, if you want,” and Tommy had laughed, “That’s a really shitty pick up line, Favs,” even as he was already draining the last of his beer and pulling out his wallet to settle his tab. Jon’s smile had widened, toothy and happy, really happy. 

Tommy drives his dick in and stays there, can feel the way Jon clenches around him in reaction to the fullness. “You look really good,” he says, voice quiet, “stuffed full of dick.” There’s a little saliva gathering in the corner of Jon’s mouth and starting to drip down his chin. 

Tommy hitches Jon’s knees up and fucks in closer, feeling stupid about the way Jon meets him for it – pulling his legs up easily, pushing his ass forward so that Tommy stays deep inside of him. Keeping his mouth o-ed around the fake cock and looking up at Tommy. 

Tommy huffs and wraps his fingers around the dildo, and Jon lets him – his own hand falls away, and he reaches for his cock instead, moving his palm against the head of his dick in a way that makes the muscles in his calves spasm. He does it again and Tommy gives him a hard thrust at the same time, is rewarded by the sound of Jon choking on a moan. 

“Wanna see you come,” Tommy grits out, fucking the dildo into Jon’s mouth, letting the plastic-ey head slide against the inside of his cheek. He pulls it out and Jon chases after it, mouth open and sloppy. “Christ,” Tommy grits out, “you need it so bad.” 

“Yeah,” Jon says, sighing and curling his tongue around the fake cockhead, pointing his tongue along the slit like – like if it were a real dick he’d be greedy for the taste of come. Tommy’s dick jerks inside of Jon.

“Yeah,” Jon mumbles, shoulders hitching up suddenly like he wants to hide his face. But he blusters on, whining a little, “Tommy, god, Tommy, I wanna come on your dick.”

Christ. Tommy starts fucking him steadily, letting him feel the long, easy, drag of his dick in and out, and at the same time keeping the dildo shoved comfortably in his mouth, enough that he has to work for it a little, jaw wide, but nowhere close to too much. 

Jon’s hand is moving between his legs, quick strokes along the head of his dick, thighs tense and clenched tight around Tommy’s hips like he wants to keep him there. 

“Gonna,” Jon says, slurry around the fake dick, slurping it back in his mouth and breathing hard through his nose, a tight little hitch in his breath as his eyes flutter closed and he comes, sucking hard on the dick once, his whole body clenching and releasing as Tommy fucks him through it. 

_Beautiful_ , Tommy thinks, _you look so fucking beautiful like this_ , but he doesn’t, can’t get the words out, instead drops to his elbows, tossing the dildo away and leaning in to kiss Jon, messy and open-mouthed, letting his own orgasm uncurl along his spine in one long, heavy wave that leaves him breathless and panting against Jon’s open mouth. 

“Wow,” Jon says, a little later. “That was…”

Tommy huffs a laugh against Jon’s shoulder. “Go on,” he says, “feel free to tell me – in detail – about how great I am in bed.”

“Mmm,” Jon says, flexing his shoulders, running his hands along Tommy’s back. He pitches his voice high, trills in this fake-girly voice, “Oh, Tommy, you’re so big and strong and manly," laughing through it and flipping them over, so he’s got Tommy laid out underneath him instead, the broad stretch of his shoulders flexing and carved out in amber from the low lamplight in the room.

Tommy laughs, pressing his head back into the pillow and looking up at Jon’s smiling face. “That’s like – kinda exactly what you just sounded like, dude,” he says, “’oh, Tommy, put me in a skirt and fuck me with my panties still on,’” he purrs, and Jon turns pink but is laughing, eyes crinkled in embarrassed delight. 

“Fuck you,” he says, flopping off to the side. “M’not helping you change the sheets tonight, just for that.” He shivers, says softly, “M’dripping come _everywhere_.”

Tommy’s quiet. He scratches his nails along his belly. Says offhandedly, “We could – just like sleep in your bed. Tonight.” He pauses. “Together,” he says, to clarify. 

Jon glances over at him, shorn head ruffling against the sheets. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He taps his fingers on his own arm. “Yeah,” he says again, voice cracking, “that – works.”

“Cool,” Tommy says, swallowing. Right. He’s about to leverage himself up off the bed to do that when Jon flips back over towards him suddenly and kisses him - once, softly. Just a kiss – not meant to start anything or done in the heat of the moment. Just a dry brush of lips. 

When Jon pulls away, something in Tommy’s face makes him smile, and he ducks his head and rolls away, off the other side of the bed. 

“M’gonna clean up,” he says. “I’ll – meet you down there, yeah?”

“Ye -,” Tommy clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Tommy’s already under the sheets, lights off, when Jon joins him, hair wet again and smelling like soap. 

“You showered?”

“Yeah,” Jon says, voice gravelly. It’s really late. Tommy’s already heard the front door open once, someone moving around in the kitchen downstairs. “Was easier,” Jon says. “Had come all the way down to my knees. Hate when it dries on my leg hair.” He nuzzles in closer, sticking his face in the join of Tommy’s shoulder and neck. He sounds half asleep already. 

“I probably stink,” Tommy says. “S’hot.”

“Nah,” Jon says, squirming, dragging his nose almost into the crease of Tommy’s armpit. “Smell really good.” He sighs. “Love the way you smell.”

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek. “Weirdo.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, “I know,” but his breath is evening out, and he’s basically sleeping.

Tommy shuts his own eyes and follows after him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm very sorry! One day I had an image of golden boy Jon Favreau with a neon green dildo in his mouth and I have been haunted ever since! Catch me screaming on [tumblr!](silkcoeur.tumblr.com)


End file.
